Through Death
by Abe Lincoln Lover
Summary: Heaven is very white, and all of this is very right. Rita can't help but bumping into a person from her past, however. And television screens can easily become the window into the world of the living. FEATURING: Onscreen Dexter and the Bits!


**AN: You know, honestly, I haven't written a single thing since the last time I posted something. I've just been out. Here's something that is completely out-there and terrible, enjoy if you wish, but all the characters are pretty OOC that it'll be hard to read without cringing. I haven't even read this over. I wrote it, and am submitting it straight. Hope it's not too horrible. If it is, I'm sorry. -BARBIE**

Death, she decided, wasn't all bad. For example, there were clouds, and singing angels, and lots of white walls - white walls, she noted, that were pristine and bare from childish etchings. Add to that the giant party going on all around her, full of people she used to know and speak to every day. People from all parts of her life - father, grandmother, uncle, cousin, elementary school best friend - came up to pat her on the back and say hi. And she said hi back, because this was a new life, a happier life. Everything was great, and wonderful, and she barely even missed Harrison, and Cody, and Astor, and Dexter, and -

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him. Paul. Her sort-of ex-husband. The one she didn't miss, not ever, not really. He walked up to her, too, just as everyone else had. His eyebrows wiggled. "Nice to see you here."

"You were right," she spat out. Some irritation and agitation never went away, even through death. "About Dexter. He hit you and framed you. I know. You were right. Are you happy?"

She felt his arms around her and a certain pull towards his chest. She fought against it, and pushed away. "Don't."

"Rita, Rita," he tried. "Rita, Rita."

"But Dexter isn't a bad person. He and I were happy together. He had his faults, but we all did, too. I don't regret a single decision I made, Paul. Not for me, and not for him. If you think for a second we're going to get back together just because we're both dead and here and he isn't -"

"That's not what I was thinking at all. Rita, you've got to understand something." He grabbed her hand and held it between his. "We're connected, I know it. I love you, and I'm sure there was a time you loved me. We loved each other when we had Astor, and Cody, and maybe we can be the people we were once. Every day without you - Jesus, Rita, even in Heaven - feels like Hell. I just want you back."

"Paul -"

He patted his arms. "I'm clean now, Rita! I was getting clean before I died, but now I am, truly. There's nothing standing between us, Rita."

"There's nothing between us, period." Rita took her hand back. "I'm with Dexter now. I'll wait for him until his time is up. And then we'll be together, for eternity. This is the way it's supposed to be, and this is the way I want it to be, for once. Stop trying, Paul. I don't hate you anymore, but I sure as hell am not ready to drop my current husband for my ex-husband."

"Rita, Rita," Paul tried again, as she started marching away. "Rita, Rita. Hear me out. Come with me, and I'll give you plenty of reason not to stay with him. You'll see why I'm the better man, here."

"God, Paul, why are you so obsessed with me? Just leave me alone!"

"Come on, Rita. Just ten minutes. That's all the time it'll take. And it's not like ten minutes is really anything, up here." He looked at her expectantly. "So?"

She closed her eyes. Images of all the people she left behind flashed through her mind. Astor playing her music too loud. Harrison throwing up his breakfast and tossing every single spoon on the floor. Cody picking a fight with another kid in the Young Sailors' Club. Her mom, Gail, being a controlling bitchy force in her life. Her neighbor letting the dog yap all night long. Dexter being a little too perfect, all the time. Everyone else had their faults. Why didn't he? Or what was she just not seeing? Is this what Paul wanted to show her?

Did she really want to know?

"Show me," she answered. He obliged, and led her through the throngs of people to a side room painted just as white as everywhere else. He motioned for her to sit on the sofa, and look at the screen on the wall. He retrieved the remote and sat down a little too close to her. She scooted away, making sure he noticed his mistake. He ignored the gesture.

"This screen lets us see the world, Rita. The actual, human world we left behind. It's here so we don't feel too bad about abandoning everyone we loved. We're allowed to check in whenever we want. This isn't for just now." He clicked the screen on. It was focused on a New Yorkan landscape. "It's like a TV. You turn it on, and it goes right back to whatever was being watched before it was turned off. The previous viewer must have been from New York, I guess. But anyway, you just punch in a code and it brings you right where you need to be - here we go, Orlando."

"I don't live in Orlando."

Paul tossed the remote aside. "But Astor and Cody are there right now. Look, they're with my parents. Looks like they're having fun."

Rita watched for a couple of seconds. It was night, and the group was driving back to their hotel, laughing and having an excited conversation together. It was nice to see them again. She had been previously upset with the thought of never looking at her offspring's faces again. A slight smile grew silently on her face as she watched, before turning into a frown just as quickly. "Is this right now?"

"Well, yeah. But we can go backwards if you -"

She stood up and paced around. "It must've been hours since I showed up here, Paul. Think a little. The kids are still in Disney. That means Dexter hasn't called them yet, meaning that Dexter hasn't found my body yet. Do you think Dexter went to the Keys all by himself? Do you think I'm still lying around and decomposing in the water? Oh, no. Oh, no. This is going to scar them for the rest of their lives. I know Dexter works with dead people every day but even this has got to be too much on him."

"We can see what he's up to, if you want to know?" Paul picked the remote back up. "Maybe there's some way we can -"

"We can what? Watch his face as he walks into the bathroom and laugh about his facial expression? This isn't some cheap horror movie, Paul! This is my actual life, and really soon my family is going to fall apart and there's going to be nobody there to help them through it, because God knows Dexter can barely understand his own emotions himself, let alone him helping Astor and Cody through this."

"Rita, Rita. Let's just see, Rita."

"I don't want to watch."

"It'll make you feel better. This happened to you, too."

He flicked the screen over to the bathroom, complete with a bathtub of blood and a crying infant. Rita stood up and rushed to the screen. "Harrison! My God, that bastard just left him there!"

A creak sounded from the screen. Rita turned to Paul. "That's the front door. I think Dexter's home."

Paul switched the screen to the living room. Rita turned back to the screen and watched Dexter step into the house and walk around a bit before picking up his bag. He looked just about ready to leave. Rita's face fell to a white color and she stumbled back to the couch. "He's just going to go, oh my God. He's just going to go. He won't know."

The phone startled her. Dexter, checking his phone like the good husband he is. Dexter, listening to her last voicemail, ever. The words rang through her head and pounded against her temple. "Hey, sweetie, ugh, I'm a dope. I was in such a a rush to get Harrison organized I forgot my ID for the plane, so I'm zooming home for it. Things'll be on a later puddle-jumper, but I'll still be there waiting for you. Oh, and, I know you're not into this stuff, but the moon tonight is going to be amazing. You should take a moment. You deserve it. I love you. Bye."

Heaven's nonexistent time slowed to a snail's pace. She watched Dexter dial her number.

She watched her phone ring.

She watched his eyes, most of all. Watched his eyes and saw the exact moment the fear entered them.

And then he was up, springing to her bag. Slowly realizing why her bag was here, and she supposedly was not. Listening to the sudden shriek of Harrison's crying. Running to the bathroom, turning on the lights, falling to the floor, crawling to their son, turning his head and seeing -

It was worse than she ever dreamed. She kept watching Dexter's eyes, his cold, unfathomable eyes. Watching the nightmarish horror bleed into them, and knowing this was the truth forever. Pain, loss, guilt. Every emotion ran through them, and then he was empty, like always. He had always been a crying on the inside type of guy.

"Rita -" Paul enveloped her in his arms. She accepted the contact. At least there was something that made her feel less cold and dead. She watched on, watched the years tick by. Paul had paused the screen for the moment, however.

"Go back," she told him. "I want to see. Again. I have to."

Paul stared at her for a long minute. "We can turn subtitles on."

"I can hear perfectly fine."

"They let you into the person's mind. I've used it before. It really lets you understand the person better." Clearly Paul had been feeling the same way about Dexter's unshakable stare. She nodded. No need to keep the facade. It's already gone on so long. It was time to break the illusion. Time to know, to really know.

They rewinded.

Dexter walked into the house, once more. Walked around a bit, stumbled into Harrison's playthings again. That was when she finally heard it: the inner-workings of Dexter's mind. "It's okay. Life doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be lived."

She nearly cried at that. It occurred to her that he must have always had such deep, profound thoughts, and never once shared them with her. She had always assumed he wasn't capable of thinking that sentimentally, or just couldn't be bothered. This was new.

But then came the phone call, and Harrison's crying, and he ran to the bathroom again. All thoughts stopped, cold. And then -

They weren't there anymore. Harrison, Dexter, dead Rita. Everyone was gone, and replaced. A little boy, dressed in white, and crying in blood. A memory. Rita's heart sank. She always knew Dexter was adopted, but the reason wasn't one she ever thought to care about. A dark, dark past was never one she spent much time thinking about. And all this time she had been worried about what trauma her own death would bring about, while never worrying about what trauma she would bring back to the surface. And there was just so much blood, everywhere.

Older Dexter and Baby Harrison were back. Dexter fell down to the floor and crawled to Harrison before turning and seeing Rita. A bad, "Rita," sprung out of his mouth, followed by an even more terrible, "No..."

This was further than they got before. This was all new, alien territory. She watched his hand come up, and check her pulse. Gone, of course. And then he took his hands and gently closed her eyes for her.

He wasn't even shaken by her dead body. Maybe the fact she was dead, but not her dead body in and of itself. She pulled away from Paul just as Dexter pulled away from her and went to pick up Harrison. His thoughts, finally, came back. "Born in blood, both of us."

Another memory. A policeman she recognized as the late Harry Morgan scooped up the child Dexter from before.

"Harry was right. I thought I could change what I am, keep my family safe."

He began walking out of the bathroom, and the memory people walked out of their own hell.

"But it doesn't matter what I do, or what I choose."

Rita bit her lip, confused.

"I'm what's wrong. This is fate."

Paul paused the screen. "What's wrong?"

"I don't get it," Rita bumbled out. "I'm in there, murdered, and he's blaming himself. He's thinks that he's the reason I'm dead. He should know - of all people, he should know that's not the truth. This isn't like him at all."

And that was what startled Paul back into motion. "Well, there was that thing I wanted to show you. It'll make his reaction here make more sense."

"Show me."

He fumbled with the remote a bit, clumsily giddy. He zoomed around the timeline until he found a spot he was happy with. The screen showed the inside of a psychiatrist's office, with both Dexter and the psychiatrist inside, talking. Rita turned to Paul, confused. "I didn't know he had a therapist."

Paul shushed her. The psychiatrist spoke. "So what do you want to focus on today?"

Onscreen Dexter looked a little too smug as he answered. "I'm glad you asked that." He pushed off from the sofa and walked around a bit, before continuing. "I'm gonna tell you something that I've never told anyone else before."

He sounded just like a two year old with a secret. A really big, juicy secret. Rita leaned forward. This is what she came here to see. The therapist nodded, and said, "Okay."

Dexter took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm a serial killer."

Rita jumped to her feet. "Excuse me? Paul, I - this isn't funny. What the hell are we watching?"

"Hey, Rita, you wanted to know. But keep watching, it gets better."

Dexter let out a huge groan of relief. "Ugh, God! Wow. That feels so amazing to say out loud."

The therapist didn't seem to know what to do with that statement. He fished around, looking for an appropriate response. "Well, you must be letting go, because I've never heard you make a joke before."

Rita nodded along with each word. She sent prayers through the roof, hoping desperately the same thing the therapist was wishing for - that this was all just a big joke. She tried just as desperately to disregard the fact that she, too, had never really heard Dexter make a joke before. Maybe a couple awkward statements, but never a real knee-slapping pun. And especially nothing ever like this. This wasn't any part of Dexter's limited humor, and she knew that.

"I'm not joking," Dexter supplied. "I kill people. Woah, there it is again." And then - the nastiest look she's ever seen Dexter give someone, right to the therapist. "You should try it."

"Turn it off, Paul!" She slapped the remote into his hand. "Turn it off!"

"Okay, okay!" He paused the screen instead, however, and looked to her expectantly. "Not what you were expecting?"

She crossed her arms irately. "I don't know what type of sick joke you're trying to play, or why or how you even think this is funny. I don't even know how you made this, or where this is from, or how this" she motioned to the screen "can even be real. I don't want to see you again, and I don't want to hear your name again. Heaven is a big place, Paul, so you'd better stay out of my way. And I mean it. Stay away from me, Paul."

She began storming towards the doorway. Paul flash-forwarded the timeline to the same room, but covered with plastic and occupied by a surgical/homicidal-looking Dexter standing over a shriveling, imprisoned mass known as the therapist. He pressed play and pointed to it. "Rita, Rita. Come on, Rita. This is the truth! Don't you want to face the truth, instead of always being blind to it?"

Rita stared at the screen for a long second. "Actually, no, Paul. And you should have known that."

"I should have known that? Me? What? I was ruining your life long before you found out I was a drug addict. It only would've helped you to know sooner, that's what I've been trying to do, here!"

"No. Stop, Paul. No. You don't get to play this game. Dexter isn't like you. Dexter might have been this terrible person, but at least he cared enough to act like he wasn't."

"Rita - what? How can you say that? He's clearly a monster!"

"I'd choose him over you, any day, anyway." She left the room and disappeared into the throngs of people. As she grew farther away from him, she felt her anger dissipating. Not just at Paul, but at Dexter, too. She still felt just as betrayed, but their actions began to seem justifiable and noble. She blamed her acceptance on her current state. Death had brought her clarity, without the muddling of emotions that humans find themselves victim too, time and time again. Death, she decided, wasn't all bad.


End file.
